Page 66 of The Cottage on Pelican Bay

He lifted a brow. “You know how to make one of those?”

“Of course.” She held out her hands in front of her. “Don’t let these hands fool you, Mr. Toussaint. They are good for a number of things.”

He suddenly got hard thinking of what some of those things were. She certainly knew how to use them on him. “I believe you. Need help with anything?”

“No. In fact, it’s almost ready. You’ve been sleeping awhile.”

“Your fault, Zara. You wore me out.”

And she had, he thought. It was easy to recall how she rode him hard several times. Where she had definitely worn him out, she looked pretty damn refreshed herself. And beautiful. She looked so captivating standing there smiling at him, he was almost weak in the knees just looking at her.

“Hmm, there is something you can do. Saint?”

“What?”

“Select the wine for dinner.”

Yes, he could do that instead of standing there, rubbing his chin and staring at her like a besotted fool. “Okay.”

When he headed for the wine cabinet, she asked, “Will you be able to stay long?”

He turned and smiled. “I plan to stay the entire night, if that’s okay with you.” He knew why she’d asked. Since his parents had returned, he’d been helping his father work on the boat dock. And because his mother had decided she wanted to try out several breakfast menus that she’d collected while in Memphis, he’d joined them for breakfast a few times this week. He would be the first to admit that it was reducing the amount of time he’d been spending with Zara. Once she returned to Boston he would welcome any opportunity to stay busy. But now he wanted to spend every moment with her that he could.

“That’s definitely fine with me. Like I’ve always told you. You’re welcome to my cottage on Pelican Bay at any time.”

He wanted to cross the room and swoop her into his arms and carry her back to bed. Instead, he walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her. He was tempted, damn was he tempted, to tell her how he felt about her, but he couldn’t risk another woman rejecting his love. He rested his face against the softness of her neck and inhaled the unique scent of her skin.

“That’s good to know, sweetheart,” he whispered, and wondered if that invitation extended to whenever she returned to town. He drew in a deep breath knowing he couldn’t go there. He wanted more than she would be willing to give.

Zara opened her eyes, not sure what had brought her awake. She shifted her gaze to Saint, who was lying beside her asleep. At least with his eyes closed, and the deep, even breathing from his nostrils denoted that he was. She looked over at the clock on the nightstand. It was way past midnight. After eating dinner, they cleaned up the kitchen together before returning to bed.

He had promised over dinner to pleasure her through the night, and he’d delivered. She had barely recovered from one orgasm when he was plying her with another. Saint had the ability to arouse her over and over again then satisfy her to her body’s content.

Because she had taken a nap earlier, she wasn’t all that sleepy and decided to pick out a book and read awhile until she was sleepy again. Because their legs were entwined and he had his arms wrapped around her spoon-style, there was no way she could get out of bed without him knowing it. The last thing she wanted to do was wake him up since she figured he needed his sleep, but it couldn’t be helped. She needed a potty break anyway.

The moment she began easing out of his arms, his eyes flew open and the most gorgeous pair of dark, sleepy eyes looked at her. “Where are you going, sweetheart?”

His deep, husky voice was tempting her to say, “Nowhere,” and snuggle close again. Instead, she said, “To the potty,” since that would be her first stop.

He let her move, and then closed his eyes again. Getting out of bed, she headed for the door but paused to look back at Saint. She enjoyed the times she spent with him, morning, noon or night. Then there was the joy she felt waking up next to him.

After using the bathroom, she went upstairs. She settled in a chair, determined to finish reading the romance novel she’d started a few weeks ago. Whenever she purchased a book that she liked, she’d buy three versions, a print copy for those times like now when she wanted to hold a book in her hands. She’d also buy it for her e-reader for when she preferred reading in bed, and she would buy the audio version for when she wanted the book read to her.

She didn’t have many chapters left. Although she knew there would be a happy ending, the fun part was watching the couple maneuver their way there. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there reading when she sensed a presence. Glancing up she saw Saint standing across the room. His feet were braced apart, his trousers hung low on his hips and he was bare chested.

“I missed you in bed with me.”

She figured in a week’s time her place beside him in bed would end anyway. She didn’t want to think about that. “I couldn’t get back to sleep so decided to read awhile.”

He came into the loft. She was glad her painting on the easel was covered. She wasn’t ready for him to see her latest project. It would be her final gift to him. Looking at the bookcase he said, “I never paid any attention to all these books before. There’s quite a collection.”

Zara followed his gaze. “Mom loved reading, and some of those books were handed down to her through generations. Just like that copy of The Three Musketeers. That one was her favorite. The author, a Frenchman by the name of Alexandre Dumas, was a friend of my maternal great-great-grandfather. That copy was part of its first printing in 1844. I promised my mother that I would always keep the collection of books she has here.”

He walked over to the bookcase and pulled out the book. The moment he opened it, an envelope fell to the floor. She watched as he bent to pick it up, glanced at it and then said, “It’s addressed to you.”

She lifted a brow. “Me?”

“Yes,” he said, crossing the room to hand the envelope to her.

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